Bittersweet
by Ashabadash
Summary: the characters' reaction to the CSI finale. Spoilers for season 8 finale


Thanks to** Lindsay** for the Beta:

* * *

They all went their separate ways, all wanting to be alone with their thoughts after what Ecklie had told them

They all went their seperate ways, all wanting to be alone with their thoughts after what Ecklie had told them. It was early for the graveyard shift, around 3 in the afternoon when Ecklie had called Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Greg, and Jim into his office. All groggy and wishing they were back home asleep; the team suddenly awakened to what Ecklie had to say.

Warrick Brown, only hours after being released from the precinct on a first degree murder charge, was found dead in his car with two bullet wounds in the head. He was murdered by Undersheriff Jeffrey McKeen, who was now on the run and no where to be seen.

When allowed to leave, no one moved for a moment. They all sat in utter silence, not daring to move, unable to believe that any of this was real.

Grissom stood up first, trying to hold himself together as an example to his team. _Or what was left of his team_, he thought bitterly. He stood and looked at Ecklie, who could do nothing but nod. Grissom looked at the others, but no one looked back at him, they were all shell shocked from the news about Warrick. He turned and left Ecklie's office, walking to his own and closing the door behind him. Slowly he walked over to his desk, feeling his age for one of the few times in his life. Once sitting down, Grissom didn't know what to do with himself. Warrick had been on his team for almost ten years. He was more than a coworker or a colleague, he was a friend. Whenever Warrick was in trouble, Grissom never thought twice about taking his side. How could he be dead?  
Trying to keep his composure in check, Grissom picked up the phone and dialed an all too familiar of a number.

"Sara, it's Gil," he said in the phone, surprised at how shaky his voice was. "I have some bad news." He took a deep breath. "It's Warrick, Sara. He's…"

* * *

Somehow, she got home. Catherine vaguely remembered being driven home by _someone, _maybe Jim, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that life froze for her when she was in Ecklie's office.

This couldn't possibly be happening. Warrick couldn't be… She had just had breakfast with him and the boys only hours ago. They were happy, everything had been going fine, they were wishing Greg good luck before he met the publishers in L.A. None of this could be happening.

She walked in the house and found Lindsay sitting at the kitchen table, actually doing her homework for once. Catherine took a deep breath. Lindsay. How could she tell her about Warrick?

"Mom?" Lindsay turned around in her chair and saw her mother's red rimmed eyes. "What's wrong? Were you crying?" Catherine sniffed, trying to deny that she was distressed, but there was no hope hiding it from her 15 year old. "You didn't drive home like this did you? Mom, what's wrong?" Lindsay was standing up now and she ran over to her mother who had now collapsed on the couch in tears. "Mom! You're scaring me. What is it? Tell me now!" Lindsay demanded. Catherine took a minute to regain her composure.

"Lindsay," he voice was horse. "Honey, it's about Warrick…" Catherine could feel the tears welling up again. "Warrick was shot this morning, Lindsay." Lindsay's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"No…" the teenager whispered. "He's not…No, Mom, is he…" Lindsay couldn't bare to say it out loud.

"Yes," was all Catherine could answer before both girls were holding each other in hysterics.

* * *

Nick knew driving was out of the question. He was too worked up for that. Instead, he walked around the strip aimlessly, his hands in his pockets and his eyes facing the ground. Today, at approximately 3:15 pm, Nick found out that his best friend had been…  
No, Nick couldn't think about that now. He sat on a bench next to a bus stop, not really intending on taking the bus, but just needing to sit and clear his head. No one deserved to go like that, killed by someone they supposedly should trust.

He pulled out the wad of money in his pocket that Warrick had given him. All the money he had owed Nick. What had compelled 'Rick to pay Nick back now?

Nick shuddered; he had enough trust issues as it is what with his childhood and everything. Now it was the Undersheriff who killed his best friend. Where was the world going these days?

* * *

Jim walked into the parlor and nodded to Tim the tattoo artist.

"Another something sentimental Jimmy?" Tim asked as brass sat in the chair and took off his shirt.

"Yea…" Brass said quietly. He pointed to the shoulder opposite of the one that had been shot merely two years ago.

"What do you want?" Tim asked, firing up the tattoo needle.

"_W.B. 5-15-08_," Jim said. And as he watched the letters and numbers become permanently etched into his skin, he remembered the very last thing he said to Warrick while he was alive.

_You should think about how lucky you are. _

_  
__Yea, lucky,_ Jim thought bitterly.

* * *

Greg sat in the airport terminal staring at the opposite wall, not moving, not making a sound, not paying attention to the women a few rows over who were looking at him suggestively.

He felt that he should just cancel his flight and go back to the lab, maybe try and help catch the sonofabitch that killed…

Instead, Greg suddenly perked up and pulled his laptop out of his bag. He opened his email and sent a quick change to his editor.

_Dedication: To Warrick Brown. A fighter, a hero, a mentor, and friend._

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